


Take Me To A Higher Plane

by retts



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Accidental kink, Blood Drinking, Bloodplay, Future Fic, Knifeplay, M/M, Porn, Romance, Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-01
Updated: 2011-12-01
Packaged: 2017-10-26 18:11:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,602
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/286380
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/retts/pseuds/retts
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>it's then that arthur maybe scratches a little too hard, maybe bites a bit too intensely, and merlin's pale skin just breaks and bleeds.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Take Me To A Higher Plane

a. sometimes arthur is gentle with merlin. there's this look merlin has on certain days and it's not overtly sad or miserable, but his sharp face just sort of softens into the weave of melancholy, and it just moves something in arthur, makes him touch merlin as if he's made out of spun-glass.

then, then, _then_ there are the days when it's rough and wicked, both of them buzzing as if they've just been from a great battle. it's all push and pull, bite and suck, nails scraping, hair pulling, hips bucking like horses. it's then that arthur maybe scratches a little too hard, maybe bites a bit too intensely, and merlin's pale skin just breaks and bleeds. he apologises, of course he does, but sometimes, rarely really, arthur bends down and licks away the blood. it's not conscious; arthur doesn't even like the taste of it at all, reminds him too much of the battlefield and comrades falling into graves. but - _but_ it's merlin's blood and he's alive and it sort of tastes magical, still with the tang of iron but as if dipped in sunlight. arthur doesn't know, really. just.

and merlin doesn't say anything. not a word. he merely throws his head back and moans, because it's fast and not at all tender and it's obvious they'll cut themselves in the heat of the moment. it happens.

 

b. in all of the years that merlin has served as arthur's manservant, and the times when he doesn't have to now he's court sorcerer but still does, merlin is still pretty shit at it. oh he's learnt how to help arthur in and out of his armour. he knows the perfect temperature for arthur's bath. he's certainly adept at cajoling the kitchen staff to put a little bit more of that to arthur's breakfast, oh arthur _loves_ strawberries, yes thank you so much!

but still, merlin is so clumsy that it often negates his good efforts. like now, for instance: merlin is wiping down excalibur, sitting by the fireplace. arthur is pretending to read tax documents but he's really just staring at merlin's profile, at the way his hands are so deceptively graceful as they drag the cloth down the length of excalibur's steel. the illusion doesn't last long because merlin's focus shifts away and he nicks his right palm on the sharp blade.

merlin's soft hiss of 'owwwww' has arthur by his side in an instant. the sword clatters to the floor as merlin holds up his injured hand.

and right now, arthur should really be opening his mouth to mock merlin. it's there, the words _good god, merlin, how on earth has somebody as clumsy as you managed to survive this long? some great sorcerer you are, idiot_ are right there, on the tip of his tongue, except, no, arthur's taken hold of merlin's wrist and brought the cut to his lips.

arthur vaguely notes how merlin startles at the touch, shoulders jerking, nearly yanking his hand away. but he doesn't really dwell on that because merlin's blood is smearing his lips and he licks at them, swallows the bright red liquid. arthur is very gentle, though: he doesn't suck on the wound because that will hurt and he never, ever wants to hurt merlin.

and the taste: it's hot and salty and iron-gold and arthur is so hard in his trousers. he exhales on merlin's palm and merlin startles again, fingers flexing in arthur's hold. arthur looks at him and sees wide eyes and black pupils and flushed cheeks. the worry prodding him in the back of his head doesn't get a chance to build up since the moment arthur's mouth leaves merlin's red-flecked skin, merlin lunges forward and kisses him deeply, and soon there's no moment to waste as they fuck each other senseless.

 

c. and it happens again. a cut on merlin's elbow that arthur wipes clean with his tongue. a tiny scratch that offers up the smallest droplets that arthur kisses away, barely able to taste. tiny marks when merlin's flask shatters that arthur trails his tongue along, following the curve of merlin's foot.

and arthur knows, alright, that it's strange. he should wipe it away with cloth. he should rub it with ointment. he should not be using his tongue and lips, even if it makes merlin moan and hiss and cry out.

 

d. merlin whispers in his ear that it's 'fine, go on, it's fine' as arthur hesitates, the tip of his dagger (sterilised, of course) just ghosting above merlin's skin.

'are you sure?' arthur asks, terrified, thrilled.

merlin rolls his eyes. 'yes! come on, _arthur_.'

he doesn't want to hurt merlin. swore he'd protect him and never make him unhappy. but merlin is offering himself. he's. and he said it's _fine_. and when arthur thinks about the blood, it sends a dangerous thrill shooting up his spine. because it's merlin's blood and he'll have merlin inside of him, warming him from the inside with that iron-gold flavour.

so arthur does, taking care to trace delicately on merlin's belly, watching hungrily as spidery lines of crimson bloom on the pale, sweet skin.

it's wrong, so wrong, but oh, hmm, it fills something dark and needy within arthur that makes him not care as long as merlin's fingers are in his hair and he's gasping, 'slowly, slowly' and arthur does so.

 

  
e. only, it cannot last. there is revulsion in arthur as well, for what he's doing. blood is life. it is sacred. it is taboo. arthur should not drink it as if it's wine. he is ashamed of this abnormal thirst, wonders where it came from.

as arthur watches his kingdom from his window, he is reminded that he's king. king of camelot. her ruler and champion, her defense and virtue. kings do not shiver at the taste of blood! kings do not yearn for the taste of it, the scent of it. it's a sin against god and man.

and what of merlin? yes, merlin offered his blood freely. yes, merlin has acted as if it pleasures him when arthur drinks from him. but what if it's merely an act? merlin has always given in to arthur's demands and desires. oh he grumbles along the way like a little brat but eventually he relents.

arthur cannot bear it if merlin thinks the worst of him. he is afraid that he's fallen short of merlin's vision of him as king, as an honourable man.

there is only one choice to make. the right one. the sinless one.

 

  
f. this time, arthur touches merlin carefully all the time, curbing temptation. he's gentle and adoring and presses the softest kisses on merlin's body. when merlin suggests it, arthur shakes his head in refusal and continues in his gentle way. no more. no more of that.

 

g. the feast is torture. merlin has been watching him all night. has been tracing the edge of his dinner knife almost absently, head tilted and eyes unraveling what arthur doesn't want unraveled.

arthur seizes his cup and drinks from it deeply. the wine is too sweet and thin. it curdles in his stomach.

merlin mirrors arthur's action: he drinks from his own cup, head thrown back, throat working delicately. then he puts down the cup and arthur hides his fists under the table because if he doesn't, then he'll pull merlin towards him and ravish him then and there. merlin, whose lips are so dark red they look stained with blood.

 

h. they are snogging on the bed, just kissing in that brilliant way that makes arthur hazy and dizzy and fuzzy. merlin rolls them over until he's on top, straddling arthur, their achingly good kisses never wavering.

arthur lifts up on his elbows, turning the kiss deeper, a bit filthier, and merlin rewards him with a breathy moan. he doesn't notice, is utterly unaware until merlin pulls away with a slick sound and brings his forearm to arthur's chin. he smells it then, familiar and haunting, that unique tang of blood. arthur's eyes snap open to see the fleeting flash of gold in merlin's eyes before it's gone, back to blue once more.

'go on, arthur.' merlin gives him a small smile, nudges his arm against the side of arthur's face. blood seeps down his elbow. 'i know you want to. i want you to.'

merlin dips a finger in his own blood and wipes it on arthur's bottom lip.

arthur flinches. 'i can't. i. i'm king, merlin, and i can't just. it's wrong. perverse. and you shouldn't want me to. it's precious, your blood. and, and, i'm king.'

'what does that have to do with this?' merlin shakes his head. his eyes are soft. 'this is just yours, arthur, not the crown's. and i want to give it to you. so please. please, your majesty,' he mocks affectionately, presses his arm to arthur's mouth.

'merlin,' arthur says, because what else can he say?

he slowly takes merlin's arm, watches the way merlin's eyes fall half-closed in satisfaction as arthur licks at the blood spilt. then merlin whimpers when arthur traces the cut with the tip of his tongue. the taste is exquisite, missed badly. he really shouldn't but merlin is giving him this. this, without censure or judgment. just with that same patient, almost long-suffering indulgence as if making arthur happy makes _merlin_ happy and really, arthur should know this already.

it's absurd and wonderful and just arthur's. he closes his eyes and drinks, grateful, letting the blood flow down his throat, hot and salty and iron-gold.

**Author's Note:**

> This fic came as a complete surprise. Accidental kink ftw!


End file.
